Tip of the Blade
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: One too many of everything...Molly has reached her breaking point. WARNING: TRIGGERS OF SELF-HARM AND SUICIDE! Sherlolly at the end.
1. Chapter 1

So, I ended up starting this yesterday, when the world was ending. And then I was just too exhausted to do anything with it. So, I finished it today, and am posting it now, just as a final way of getting it out. There ARE Trigger warnings in here of self injury and suicide, but Please do NOT worry about me doing either of those. My problems are big, but they aren't worth that. Anyway, it's just the way my dark emotions revealed themselves yesterday.

**I don't own anything**

**The Tip of the Blade:**

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It hadn't been this bad for a long time. However, Molly had endured one too many jibes from the world. One too many family deaths, one too many failed relationships, one too many hurtful comments on her appearance, _one too many consulting detectives that would never love her as she loved him._

She hadn't picked up the blade since she was in college. Always done in secrecy, and always so careful as to hide the evidence of the slight hash marks across her fair skin. Back then, it was done as a way to relieve stress before her more difficult exams, or as a way to break the pain of not getting invited out with the other girls on a Friday night. Trivial to most people, but to her, it was the world. One or two nicks of her skin later, and she'd feel better, the tension no longer pressing to get out of her.

However, now, now was different. She sat on the floor of the loo in St. Bart's, trying not to wince after each harsh line that she drew across her already reddening and swollen flesh. It had started earlier that week, when everything that could possibly go wrong, did. The one wonderful outcome, or rather, the thing that started it all, was Sherlock Holmes' return from the dead. It had taken him three years, but he had finally done it. Finally brought down the organized crime wheel of a terrifying man, a man whom she had almost dated. However, with this new reveal of the truth, came all the other truths. How she had helped him. How she had broken the law to help him. How she had _lied_. On the reports, to the board, to the police, to the press. _To John._ Needless to say, her career was now in jeopardy, as was her once beautiful friendship with the army doctor. His words stung through the slashed on her skin as she recalled them.

"_I can't believe I trusted you with so many secrets. So many nights I cried into your shoulder, and you never said anything! I can't believe you, Molly!" _

She had expected him to be harshly hurt, and rightfully so. However, she had not expected the subject of their argument to stand aside, not coming to her aid at all. Sherlock was far too busy reacquainting himself with his favorite microscope to notice the tears that had started to fall down her cheeks.

"_John, stop."_

She had wanted him to say it, wanted him to show, act, like he cared. She never did get so lucky in this life. It was two days later, when the hammer fell. The gavel came down, and she was dismissed. Dismissed from services, dismissed from Bart's, _dismissed from life as she knew it._

So, she had cleaned her office out. Books and boxes of ridiculous items that she'd collected over the years, all piled into the back of a cab, and driven to her flat across the city. Molly stayed behind, filing the last of the paperwork on autopsies she had performed. The final one complete, she excused herself to the restroom, passing by a stoic and entirely focused Sherlock.

"_Goodbye, Sherlock." _She had muttered. Not at all a surprise, she received no more than a hum in response.

And now she sat, fingers lightly curled around the shining handle of the scalpel. Her arms held as many gashes as her thighs, yet the pain continued to press on her. It hurt, burned, ripping her from the inside out. She looked through teary brown eyes at the damage she had done to herself.

_My God, I'm a mess._

She had contemplated this note for quite some time, off and on throughout her several past moments of weakness. However, it only made sense now, now that she would actually be carrying out the act. She thought of the words that she had scrawled onto the note, before leaving it beside his petri dishes in the lab.

_'Dear Sherlock,_

_It's not your fault. Not really. I just can't do it. I'm weak, far too weak to go anymore. I need you to tell John how sorry I am. He'll listen to you, it'll make sense if you explain why I couldn't tell him you were alive. _

_I need you to tell Mrs. Hudson that I'm sorry I didn't come round for tea more often, to check on her, to ask how she was. _

_And Greg. Tell him I didn't mean to get angry for doubting you for even a second. He was in a difficult place, and I didn't take that into consideration at the time. _

_Please, just tell them all I am so, so sorry. _

_Mostly, I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to tell you before how much I loved you. You were so very special to me, and I wasn't brave enough to let you know that. I'm sorry you had to be loved by someone so weak, so small. I'm sorry I couldn't love you enough, and I'm very sorry I couldn't love you with the knowledge that you would never love me back. I'm sorry I can't do more to help, and that you will never see me as someone who truly counts._

_I loved, no, I love you. And I'm sorry._

_-Molly Hooper-_

She sighed out as she nodded her head, looking down at the scalpel. The sharp tip of it was pointed at her stomach, waiting to be pressed into her. With a final deep breath, she closed her eyes, and finally, exhaled.

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A strong hand gripped around her wrist, causing her to look up with wide eyes. Her own doe's eyes met the fierce and shining blues of the man she loved. A look of pure panic, agitation, _fear_, was etched strongly into his ethereal features. She barely comprehended his harsh breathing, or the fact that his grip around her wrist was devastatingly tight. She felt the sharp blade fall from her hand, yet couldn't focus on the sound of it clattering to the floor. She was vaguely aware of John rushing into the loo, staring with wide and flustered eyes at her wounds. All was quiet, even when Sherlock hoisted her crumpled form up and into his arms, carrying her to A&E. His lips were moving, yet she couldn't make out what he was saying. It was only when the nurses took over, strapping her down to the gurney, that she heard him.

"You stupid, stupid woman. What have you done to my Molly?" His voice was low, charred and gravelly with the evidence of withheld tears. Her eyes tried focusing on him, but faded as she slipped into unconsciousness.

OoOo

Hours. _Maybe days_. She wasn't sure how long she had been asleep. However, she did know that she felt like a truck had passed over her entire body, before backing up and doing so again. Her eyes blinked open slowly, and she looked to her side. He was standing by the window, staring out at the grey skies. John was by her bedside, his face buried in his hands, fingers filing through his sandy hair. As she moved, she felt the pain on her arms, sending her heart rate soaring. This, of course, alerted the men to her alertness. John immediately looked up, and raced to her.

"Oh, Molly. I am so sorry I got angry. I am so, so sorry." He spoke in a hushed and breathy voice. Molly smiled weakly as he pressed an almost brotherly kiss to her forehead.

"It hurts." She whispered. John stood up and walked to the door.

"I'll go get the nurse. I'll be right back, okay?" He said, before walking out of the room. Molly watched as the door slid closed, leaving her alone with the still silent man by the window.

"Sh...Sher..." She began to speak, but was abruptly cut off when he also started.

"How many times must I tell you of your importance to me before you believe me?" His voice sounded tired, almost ill. She looked at him curiously, unsure of what he meant.

"I've only _just_ returned, Molly. I returned with the notion that things, life, would go back to how I once knew it. However, I did not include the changed dynamic between us." He turned, and she could see the torment behind those deep eyes. He hadn't slept for days, she could tell. He walked closer to her bed, still too far away for her to reach out to him.

"It is entirely my fault that you were not aware of how that dynamic has changed. I never told you, and I did not realize I had not expressed it enough that night three years ago when I told you that you counted." He sat in the chair beside her now, his hand reaching out and taking hers.

"This isn't you. You are strong, Molly Hooper. Much stronger than anyone gives you credit for, especially yourself. The Molly I know...the Molly I _love_, is brave. She is not weak, and she is _certainly_ not small." Molly's eyes flooded with tears, and she silently let them spill over her cheeks as he spoke. Sherlock leaned forward then, and pressed his lips to the salty tears as they slid over her skin.

"Please. I just want her back. I want _my_ Molly Hooper. I need to tell her she counts. I need to tell her how much I _can_ love her." He whispered now, pressing light kisses over her face, his hand squeezing onto hers tightly. The nurse had entered moments later, followed by John, who watched as the consulting detective wiped his eyes and moved away, back to the window. The nurse administered more medication, and soon, Molly was drifting back to sleep. She muttered something, which had Sherlock rushing back to her side.

"What is it, Molly? What do you need?" He asked urgently, needing to gather the information before she passed out again. A soft smile, remnants of his lovely pathologist coming to the surface.

"You."

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Aaaaand yea. That's what I've got. So...I hope you liked it. Leave me a note/review, okay?


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the support I received on this story. Originally, it was going to just be a one-shot, but because Almightyswot posted a thing about it, saying she thought it would be good to do chapters based on John and Sherlock's perspective, because this doesn't just affect one person. I agree, so, here is the next part...as told from John's perspective. (still third person telling, but yea...you get it.)

**Again, I own nothing, and if you are sensitive to any of the triggers such as cutting and/or suicide, please do whatever you need to to not get upset, even if that means not reading. I understand. Trust me, I do.**

K, next chapter:

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Had he known what his words would lead her to do, John Watson never would have said them. _Ever._ Truth be told, he hand't really meant to be so harsh and angry with her. He was hurt, yes. But truly angry, no. How could he be? Molly had saved his best friend's life. She was an _angel_, and he treated her like she was the devil himself. John walked into the lab, bumping past the small pathologist.

"Sorry." She muttered quietly, before swiftly walking down the hallway and out of sight. John shrugged dismissively, and soon joined his friend. It was quiet, but peacefully so. He had so missed watching Sherlock work, his quick mind swiftly unraveling the next puzzle presented to it.

"So, I was thinking of getting take-away later on. Do you plan on eating today? I hate to...ya know...have you starve or something." He had attempted the joke a few different ways now, but it never felt okay. _Not yet, if ever._

"Yes John, I will eat." Sherlock replied stoically, his hand reaching over to grab another dish of microbes to inspect. His hand brushed up against a folded piece of paper, which gracefully fell to the floor. While its descent was missed by the clever man, it did not go unnoticed by the army doctor. John reached down and picked it up, unfolding it to read the contents. Immediately, he knew what it was, and more importantly, _whose_ it was. _'No. No, not again. Not her.' _

"Sherlock, what did Molly say before she left?" John's voice was insistent, forceful.

"Just goodbye." Came the reply. John pulled his friend away from the microscope. This earned a scowl from the man, and he ignored it.

"No, Sherlock, not 'just' goodbye. How did she sound? How did she look? It's never 'just' anything with you. What did you deduce about her?" he begged for information.

"John, she said, 'Goodbye, Sherlock.' Of course, she was her usual, quiet self, and then just...left." John watched as Sherlock came to a similar conclusion. Molly didn't say _goodbye_. She would give her own dismissal, sure. A kind departing word, but never an outright 'goodbye'. Sherlock tore the note away from John's hands, and read over it quickly. Before the shorter man could react, his counterpart was out the door, racing down the hall that their petite friend had wandered earlier. Soon, John's body allowed him to move, following after the tall detective.

He finally caught up, though they hadn't traveled very far. The first thing he saw, after looking past a kneeling Sherlock, was _red_. Sure, it wasn't pouring out onto the floor, but that didn't deter from the fact that a small girl ('N_o, not a girl, despite how tiny she looks in Sherlock's arms')_ was streaked with fresh lines of scarlet. John followed closely behind Sherlock as he rushed to A&E, Molly carefully curled against his chest. The entire way, the detective muttered his thoughts. Some of John's thoughts.

"Why would you do this, Molly? Why? Don't you see? Don't you know? I told you. Why won't you believe me?" A seemingly endless mantra to the quickly fading life in his arms, Sherlock prayed quietly to his angel, until he finally passed her into the hands of the emergency nurses.

"You stupid, stupid woman. What have you done to my Molly?" As they watched her being whisked away, Sherlock's knees gave out from under him, John barely able to catch him before he fell to the floor.

OoOo

It had been two days. Of course take-away had been forgotten, as had food of any kind really. The doctors had wanted to keep her in isolation, put her on 24-hour watch. However, Sherlock had insisted it was unnecessary, as neither of them were leaving her side anytime soon. Two days, plenty of time for John to think about the situation, and worse still, his part in it.

"_I can't believe you, Molly!"_ He had been hurt as Sherlock revealed the truth behind his plan, the truth that Molly had hidden this from him. '_She knew, and she did nothing to stop the pain!' _His mind screamed, giving him the fuel for the fire of his sudden anger at her.

"_John, I..."_ She had started, wanting to explain to him. As he sat in the chair by her bedside, a very weary John looked at himself in a more shameful light. _'Why couldn't I just let her explain?'_

"_No, Molly. I don't want to hear a damn word you have to say. You lied and betrayed my trust. You are a terrible person, and ...and...I just...I can't talk to you right now." _He replayed the horrible things back in his mind, wondering how many of the cuts on her delicately pale skin were there because of him.

A sudden blip of the heart monitor made him look up. Molly's eyes were half opened, obviously showing she was under the influence of the strong sedatives they had given her. John was never so relieved to see someone waking up. _'Tell her. Tell her now.'_ He instructed himself.

"Oh, Molly. I am so sorry I got angry. I'm so, so sorry." Were the first jumbled words to leave his lips. As soon as she gave him that sweet smile, he crumbled. _'I don't deserve to have such a wonderful friend.'_ John looked over her bandaged injuries, just as she whispered to him about the pain. He stood, promising to fetch the nurse. As soon as he left the room, the doctor managed to grip the wall beside him, preventing him from collapsing entirely. _'She's going to make it. But she's not okay. God, how do I help her with this? I'm a wreck myself. Come on, John. Set aside your own bloody problems. Molly needs you.'_ The soldier in him pressed his body up and away from the wall, and he walked to the nurse's station.

"I'm going to make it up to you, Molly. I promise." He stated quietly.

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And there's that chapter. Let me know what you think. If you have issues with these things, and have decided to read this story anyway, and need to talk, I am always here. Anyway, there's that. Another chapter should be up in a day or so...schedule permitting. K, I love you all so much, and again, I know I've been negligent on my shout outs, but I really DO appreciate each and every one of you. Life gets a bit busy, and I can't type fast enough. Just know I love you all very much. K?


	3. Chapter 3

Again, Just a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story and given such amazing feedback on it. This story is very close to home for me at the moment, and so the span of time between chapters when I post them, is because it's taken me longer than normal to crank out any of these chapters. Anyway, thank you again for your amazing response to this, and I hope that you will continue to read as it goes along. Keep in mind, I do NOT want you to read this if it is going to stir up deep emotions or personal issues you have with this topic. That is a very real and scary thing to deal with, and I don't want to be triggering it in anyone.

**WARNING: TRIGGERS OF SELF-HARM/SUICIDE, PLEASE READ WITH EXTREME CAUTION IF YOU CHOOSE TO CONTINUE: AND KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU!**

**Also, I don't own any of the characters.**

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As the grey clouds rolled quickly through the London sky outside, Sherlock found his thoughts rolling just as quickly. Only, instead of waving and crashing toward the sea, his mind wandered over to the frail woman lying in the hospital bed across the room. He had never felt so scared, not even when exposed to an aerosol gas, and not even when plummeting to his 'death' off the rooftop of the same hospital they were in. It was _that_ moment, when he had come face to face with his falling angel, the scarlet scorching her perfect skin so angrily. The vacant look in her normally vibrant brown eyes told him she wasn't there, she had detached herself. _She wasn't his Molly._

The detective played back the moments in his head as he stared aimlessly out the window.

_Reading the last part of the note. Dropping it and running. Running faster than he could carry himself in any other circumstance. Forcing open that blasted door with his shoulder. Red. So much red. Molly, with the shining knife pointed toward her abdomen, seconds away from robbing him of herself. He had to stop her._

A blip from the monitor across the room shouted an alert to his ears, and he turned in time to see her waking up. John was talking to her, no doubt apologizing for being so rude to her earlier. However, Sherlock couldn't hear anything beyond the sound of her heart monitor, it's constant beeping keeping him aware that she was alive. _Alive._ Soon, he saw John leave the room, something about fetching a nurse. Suddenly, he was even more aware of the fact that it was just them now. Just the two of them, alone in this small room.

"How many times must I tell you of your importance to me before you believe me?" He asked, not missing the unfiltered emotion in his voice. _Not that it matters at this point._ He turned to face her now, and saw the ruin of his pathologist, somewhere amongst the odd glaze in her eyes. He walked to her side slowly, uncertain if he should touch her or not.

_She's so broken, I can't be the one to shatter her completely. _

"This isn't you. You are strong, Molly Hooper. Much stronger than anyone gives you credit for, especially yourself. The Molly I know...the Molly I _love_, is brave. She is not weak, and she is _certainly_ not small." Sherlock decided to finally sit and reach out to her, the lack of contact driving him crazy at this point. It was true, that he had come to love her. The idea of it all was simply foreign to him, and he hadn't acted on it as soon as he returned. _Should have._ Molly's eyes had watered, and she silently cried, listening to his words. The confession already out of the way, Sherlock found himself spilling even more hidden truths and prayers to her, no longer caring at this point how it would make him seem. _She needs to know, this can't happen again. Tell her._

"Please. I just want her back. I want _my_ Molly Hooper. I need to tell her she counts. I need to tell her how much I _can_ love her." Even more silent tears fell, though this time, they came from his own eyes. Sherlock hadn't even noticed, instead focusing entirely on the small and delicate woman in this bed. He felt truly at odds with himself as he placed strategic kisses along her face, careful not to press too hard. _Please, don't break. Please, please don't break on me._

He couldn't watch as they medicated her more, no doubt pushing her into a much needed rest. However, just one word from her small lips had him skidding back to her side in a flash.

"What do you need?" He asked, ready to take care of whatever she required. The small smile that came over her features as she slid into sleep was followed with his own.

"You." She whispered.

_You. _That one requirement, the only one she had ever truly needed, wanted, and finally, _finally, _he could provide her with that.

OoOo

The two men sat across from each other in the cafeteria, neither one eating the plates of food they had purchased. Both were silent, in their own worlds really, until John let out a heavy sigh.

"It's not your fault, John. What you said was out of extreme emotion, and she hardly blames you, so you can't blame yourself either. This whole thing is my fault." Sherlock spoke. John's eyes flashed up to his friend's, and noted the all-too-clear signs of guilt waving through his icy blues.

"No, Sherlock. You can't take all the blame either. You've only just come back, and it's not your fault either. I...I think we all have to take a bit of the blame. And Molly..." His voice broke at her name, haunting visions of her marred and torn skin flooding to his mind.

"She needs us, I know." Sherlock finished for him, finally releasing a heavy sigh of his own. The rest of their time in the lunch room was spent in silence, each one thinking of their friend.

OoOo

John had gone home, deciding he couldn't last another night in the uncomfortable chair of the hospital room. Sherlock, however, had not budged from his spot, diligent in watching Molly sleep from his spot beside her. The chair was, of course, equally uncomfortable, but John suspected that the man didn't notice.

"If you need me to come back up, just call. And try to get some sleep." He sighed when he received no reply, and chose to retreat, leaving the two behind. This left Sherlock, once again, alone to his thoughts, which had taken a rare turn toward dreams. Or rather, nightmares, when he looked at them from a detached point of view. The first had come to him as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

_He had been too late. Walking in to find her already dead. Her skin cold and cloudy eyes looking off to a disconnected realm, far from life. He held her close to his chest, not caring that her blood was soaking into his shirt. However, even with the stillness of her body, he could hear her speak._

"_This is your fault. I know I said it wasn't, but it is. It's all your fault, you're the reason I'm dead." _

He jolted awake, looking over to her quickly to make sure she was still there. Satisfied with the steady beeping of her monitoring machines, the detective found himself scrubbing his face with his open palms, before calming himself, and finally falling back into a slight sleep.

_This time he was not too late. Well, at least not too late to watch as the sharp blade punctured her beautiful flesh. He couldn't mistake the painful sound of her breath leaving her through the newly made hole as she groaned out in both pain, and relief. Crimson swiftly flooded the material of her blouse, tainting its once pale yellow color with the burning color of red. Her eyes flitted up from the fatal wound, to meet his gaze. The only words she could manage were,_

"_I'm sorry."_

before he woke up again. However, this time, he noticed that she was no longer in the bed beside him. Panic struck him quickly, and Sherlock stood, his eyes glancing all around the dimly lit room. Soon, the restroom door opened, and a very frail Molly exited, monitor following closely beside her. Shaky step after shaky step, she made her way back to the bed. However, after a few misplaced ones, she began to stumble, her body obviously weakened by the medicine she'd been pumped with. Sherlock was hoisting her small body up quickly, her thin legs dangling over his arm as he carefully placed her back into the large bed.

"Th...thank you, Sherlock." She whispered with a sniffle. Sherlock looked down over her features, and noted the clear tear tracks that had started to form on her cheeks again. Without a word, he picked her up again, only this time, he moved so that she was curled up into his lap. He lied back onto the bed, and curled his arms safely around her. He could feel her shudder against him. Silence embraced the two, before he began a soft spoken mantra to her.

"Please come back to me. My Molly. Please, please don't leave me." He felt her sigh out, her warm breath falling gently over his neck and shoulder. After a few moments, he felt her breath evening out, and could tell that she had fallen back to sleep. He closed his eyes, and found that joining her in her rest was much easier to do, especially when he held her in his arms.

_She's safe now. She's alive, and I intend to keep her that way. I won't break you, Molly. I promise. _

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K, thanks for reading. Love you all!


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much for your ongoing support with this story. As I've said before, this one is a bit different than most of my others, in that I don't actively write for it, just when inspiration strikes. So, here is another chapter for you all. Two things:

**I do not own Sherlock, Molly, John, or any/all characters already claimed by Sir ACD or the BBC.**

**Also**

**This story has TRIGGER WARNINGS of self harm/attempted suicide/depression. Do NOT read if you fear this will spark any of those feelings or thoughts for you. That's NOT what I want to have happen, because I love you so very much. **

**PLEASE proceed with caution:**

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Everything hurt. That was the greatest understatement she'd ever thought to herself. Molly woke up some time later, unsure of how long she'd been asleep. The past days events were mixed together, and she wasn't sure what had been dreamed and what had been real. The only thing she was certain of, was that somehow, by some force other than her intent, she was alive. And in pain. She tried to wriggle around for a more comfortable position, which only rubbed wrong against her tender skin, sending her into another wince of agony.

"Try not to move so much. It's rubbing your bandages against your cuts." A tender voice came from beside her bed. Molly opened her eyes a bit, and followed the sound until she looked over, meeting the gaze of John Watson. He offered her a meek smile, before standing to come to her aid. Carefully pulling her up to a sitting position, John fluffed her pillows for her, before guiding her to lie back down. Molly sighed in partial relief, feeling the strain on her body ease just a bit. She looked over to him again, and noticed the nervous fidgeting of his fingers as they drummed on his knees.

"John...I..." She started, not really sure what she was going to say. However, John moved and took her hand in his carefully, before placing a gentle kiss over her knuckles.

"Molly, please. You don't need to apologize to me at all. I'm just glad you're still..." His voice was soft, and it caught in his throat with a sharp, whimpered breath. Molly looked down a bit, realizing that he had taken her hand in both of his.

"Wh...where's Sherlock?" She asked, concerned to hear the answer. _It was all just a dream. He wasn't really here. He doesn't really care. He's off doing -_

"I ordered him to go home and get some proper rest. He's been here for the whole thing. I figured he wouldn't be helping anyone after sleeping in that chair for a week. He'll be back when he's woken up." John interrupted her thoughts with a chuckle as he spoke. It had been worse than pulling teeth to finally convince the consulting detective to actually leave the hospital. Once he had, John had phoned Mrs. Hudson to tell her that Sherlock was on his way, as well as what steps to take regarding keeping him there. John stood, and noticed the bag of fluids on Molly's IV stand had almost been emptied. He flicked it with a finger, before smiling down to her.

"I'll be right back. Just going to go get the nurse. _You_ stay where you are, young lady." He pointed to her, his face stirring into a falsely stern expression. Molly let out a tired chuckle, before nodding her head. John turned and left the room, leaving the door slightly open. Molly took the opportunity of solitude to look over herself. Bandages covered her forearms entirely, and she could see the pinkish undertones of blood that they had soaked up. She peeked under the blankets, noting that her legs were the same. She felt slightly woozy, and had just turned to grab the small waste bucket they had left by her bedside when John reappeared. He calmly soothed her as she threw up into the disgustingly pink bin, holding her hair up and out of the way. A few moments later, she was better, slowly drinking the glass of water John had placed in her hands. He came back, sitting on the edge of the bed. Molly handed him the glass, before looking up at him. The doctor's eyes were soft, kindly looking over her not as a friend, but as a brother would to his younger sister. She smiled weakly, before looking down at her arms.

"I...I don't remember doing all...all this." She said quietly. John looked down at her bandaged limbs, and his hand slid into one of hers. He squeezed it lightly, thumb grazing her knuckles.

"It's okay, Molly. You...I never realized how hard this whole thing has been on you. I certainly didn't help, and I...I'm so sorry we almost lost you." He whispered to her. Molly whimpered a bit, trying to bite down her tears. The two friends were interrupted by the nurse, who decided to enter at that moment.

"Oh...Oh I'm sorry. I've just come to give you a refill." she said with a smile, holding up the new bag of saline. Molly smiled and nodded, trying to hide her sadness as John moved away a bit. He felt his phone buzz, and immediately stood to pull it from his pocket. The incoming call buzzed most insistently, almost as much as the caller himself. John looked to Molly, and gave her a knowing look, before he answered the phone, slipping outside. Molly reclined back and let the nurse do her job, silently wondering what would happen next.

OoOo

"Why didn't you ring me sooner? I've been asleep for nearly 12 hours. I'm coming back now. What are her vitals?" Sherlock's voice was sharp and bordering on cruel in tone over the phone. John let out a sigh, before he began to explain Molly's current condition.

"Sherlock, she's going to heal just fine physically. Emotionally, she's...well she's still fragile. We have to be careful with her. So just...be patient, and try not to..."

"I know, John. I know." Something in Sherlock's voice told the doctor that he really did intend on taking it slowly with the recovering pathologist.

OoOo

Molly had drifted off to sleep again, partially due to the emotionally draining process of having to look at her cuts as the nurse changed her bandages, and partially due to the wonderfully strong sedative that had been pumped into her. She looked much more relaxed when Sherlock finally strolled into the room, and he took a moment to notice how her skin was less ashy in color. He took his place in the chair beside her bed, and reached out to take her hand in his. Only then did he look up at John from across the room.

"You should go home and rest too, you know. You look worse than I did, and we both know your limp starts to return with the lack of sleep. I can...I can handle this." He stated, pausing only briefly, as if to convince himself. John turned, and nodded his head. He looked over at the sleeping woman, and smiled a bit.

"You know the first thing she asked when I came back in after I got off the phone with you? She asked how you were doing. She's in a hospital bed, and she's still the most selfless person I know. How did we miss that before, Sherlock?" He asked, looking to his friend. Sherlock's face had taken on a sad expression, one of pure mourning and remorse.

"I didn't. In fact, missing that would have been far kinder. I saw her selflessness, and took advantage of it, countless times." He answered quietly, his eyes never leaving Molly's sleeping face. John opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, knowing that it was the truth. He turned and approached the door.

"Don't startle her when she wakes up again. That last changing took a lot out of her. I'll be back tomorrow. Try to get a bit more rest." John instructed the detective finally, before he stepped outside the room, closing the door behind him. Sherlock sighed, before leaning forward in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Molly's hand was still in his, and he decided to take the time while she slept to study every bump and dip of her small knuckles. He didn't notice that his body had began to slip back into a slight rest, and finally he fell to a full sleep, head propped up by their interlocked hands.

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So, here's another chapter. Hope you like it, leave a review so I know what you think, yea? This one is a bit slower paced, not a whole lot happens, but there is more to come, eventually. Thanks for reading. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Wow...over 100 reviews now. That's just so amazing to me. Thank you all so much for your ongoing support while I write this story out. There are so many people who have written to me and thanked me for taking on such a difficult topic for a story, and to those people, I say: If me writing this story helps you with whatever you're going through, then I am of course only too happy to do so. I just, really am so grateful for all of you who are reading this, so once again, THANK YOU!

**Right, getting to the crux of the matter, if you struggle with ANYTHING related/unrelated to this story, and you can't talk to anyone else about it...PLEASE talk to me. I want to be able to help you if at all possible. Sure, I'm screwed up and have my issues too, but those issues will ALWAYS be put on the back burner if someone needs me. So, there...just wanted to let you all know I love you and want nothing more than to be there for you when you need someone most. :) **

**THIS STORY HAS TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEPRESSION, SELF-HARM, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. If you feel these are struggling issues for you, please do not read/ read with EXTREME CAUTION! **

**This chapter starts off particularly harsh, just informing you now.**

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"_She's so strange. Who chooses pathology as a career?" _

"_What a sad, pathetic girl. Always pining for that detective. He's such a freak, they'd be perfect for each other, but he won't even look at her."_

"_She's such a little freak."_

"_She should just off herself now and save us all the pain."_

"_What a waste of space."_

"_Just look at those cuts. So ugly. He'll never want her now."_

"_She's just damaged goods."_

"_She can't even effectively kill herself, how'd she become a pathologist again?"_

"_Worthless..."_

"_Ugly..."_

"_No one will miss you..."_

"_You. Don't. Count."_

Molly startled to awareness as the voices grew louder and louder in her head. Her brown and glossy eyes opened with a flash, and she found they were already glazed over with fresh tears. She trembled at the echo of them in her mind. However, something anchored her, causing the noise to subside. Molly looked up, to find Sherlock looming over her with concern clearly set in his eyes.

"Molly? It's okay now. It was only a dream. You're safe." his baritone came through, finally waking her up completely. With a shudder, she collapsed against him, silently crying into his chest. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled her close. He stroked her hair carefully, his long fingers raking lightly over her scalp. Molly's breathing slowed eventually, and he could feel her tears stop seeping into his shirt. He cautiously looked down, only to see her drained and tired expression gazing at her exposed legs. The cleaner bandages had done their job of covering the open wounds across her thighs, but Sherlock knew she was seeing beyond their gentle shield.

"They're hideous." She whispered, her quiet tone coming out with a spiteful tone. Sherlock's gaze furrowed as her heard her hatred come sifting through. With a gentle, yet stern grip, her pulled her chin up to look at him. Molly's eyes widened in shock as she met a fierce gaze.

"No. They are not. Those are _not_ things you get to use against yourself further, Molly Hooper. Do you understand me?" The gravel undertone of his voice jarred her, and hot tears bubbled their way to the brim of her eyes. His steel, blue eyes shot through her willowy, brown ones, and the pooling tears finally spilled over.

"They...they're _my_ legs. _My_ cuts, Sherlock. W-who should I use them against, if not myself?" Molly spoke up a bit more, pulling away from his hold. Her eyes grew cold, harshly trying to defend herself by intimidating the detective. Sherlock's gaze took the opposite road as well, his eyes softening.

"Nobody, Molly. Or, if anyone, me. It's my fault, and I can never forgive myself for..." His words caught in his throat, and she wasn't mistaken in thinking that she had heard him swallow a sob.

"For what? It's not like you dragged the blade across my skin so many times. It's not as if you stood there and watched me do it. What do you have to forgive yourself for that is actually your fault, Sherlock?" She asked with a snapping bite. Sherlock winced, just in the slightest, a miniscule look of hurt coming to his eyes. Molly immediately recoiled, instantly regretting her flash of anger at him.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Sherlock. Please, though. Please, will you tell me what you have to be sorry for?" Molly asked after a beat of silence. Sherlock let out a shaky sigh, looking down and away from her as he quietly mumbled the rest of his sentence.

"I can never forgive myself for driving you away. Or for ignoring you upon my return. For my many years of taking you for granted. For almost losing you." Molly felt her heart plummet to her stomach as Sherlock did the unspeakable. He ever so gently took one of her arms in his strong hands, and carefully held it out. Then, with a moment of careful planning on his part, and a feather light touch, he placed a series of kisses along her outstretched forearm. Molly watched with wide eyes as he did this, and then moved to do the same on the other arm. Her eyes freely let the tears come now, but not from pain or anguishing depression. Instead, these tears were caused by sheer wonder.

"I'm particularly sorry for these. I may not have done this, but I am, no doubt, the reason behind several of them." She heard him mumble against the tender flesh of her arm. The small amount of pressure that pushed her bandages up against the healing wounds was immediately canceled out by moving to the next set of scars, until Sherlock had gone from wrist to elbow. He looked up at her then, and moved in more closely. Their foreheads were pressed together, and Molly let herself sink into his embrace.

Something about him was different. She could _feel_ the care behind his arms as they braced her to his chest. This was a changed man, and Molly had the thought in that moment that she may have missed seeing this all together, had she succeeded in her initial plan.

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It had been another hour of them sitting like that, with Molly wrapped gently in Sherlock's arms, when another visitor had decided to arrive. The slight knock at the door told Sherlock who it was right away, though he made no move to leave Molly's side. The small woman sat up a bit more, making sure she was decent enough.

"Come in." She said sweetly. The door opened, and a sweet and gentle smile was the first thing to greet the pair.

"Hello, dears. John said you were awake, so I thought I'd come up and check on you." Mrs. Hudson's voice said in a soft voice, as if she didn't want to disturb them. Sherlock gave a nod to the older woman, before looking down to the one by his side. Molly's face had a large smile in place, and she almost seemed herself. Sherlock, however, knew this to be a lie.

_Look harder._

His mind was right. As the detective looked over Molly as she spoke to his landlady, he could tell that it was definitely a lie. An act. Her body had gone rigid under his hold, as if forcing herself to seem more alert, more lively. The smile on her face, so like her usual smile, didn't quite reach her eyes, and seemed as though it had been pasted onto her face. The two women carried on with small talk, until Molly felt her stomach growl angrily at her. She blushed a bit, before looking to Sherlock.

"Um...I don't...could you go ask the nurse..."

"If they will let you have something to eat? Yes, I'll be right back." He finished her question, standing up. Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead, before heading out of the room. Mrs. Hudson watched the young lady's eyes track after him, and noticed her smile falter just a bit.

"You know, I may not be as clever as Sherlock Holmes, but I can tell when someone is trying to be something they aren't. And you, my dear, are not at all happy. So, why don't we quit with the chatter and get down to why I'm here. How are you doing? Really, dear?" Mrs. Hudson made her way to the chair beside Molly's bed as she spoke. The maternal figure's words seemed to break the dam, and Molly broke into sharp sobs once more. Her cries racked through her body, and Mrs. Hudson was swiftly by her side to hold her in a motherly hug.

"Sh, there there, love. It's all going to be alright." She cooed soothingly.

"B...but h-how? He c-can't...w-want me...like t-t-this. I'm j-just too...too broken." Molly managed to say through her choking tears. Mrs. Hudson sighed, before she placed a loving kiss on the top of Molly's head.

"Now, you listen to me, Miss Molly Hooper. I've known Sherlock for quite some time now, and I can say for a fact that the more broken something is, the more he seems to be drawn to it. He dashes about solving all these problems for people, because he enjoys putting the little broken pieces back together." Molly's body had calmed a bit, her frame no longer shaking from sobbing so hard. Her arms had curled up to her chest, and were beginning to hurt again from the pressure and tension she carried in them, but Mrs. Hudson's hold was relentless.

"Things may be a mess now, dear, but that boy _loves_ you, broken and all. That horrible thing with the press and having to fake his death changed a lot about Sherlock. Give him some credit, he's a much better man now than he was then. Something I think _you_ had a bit to do with." The sweet landlady finally pulled away, smiling at Molly as she did so. Molly wiped away the last of her tears, and grimaces as she straightened her arms back out. Her bandages had shifted, exposing several of the reddened lines across her skin. Mrs. Hudson fussed, as any mother would, but had taken it upon herself to help Molly remove the messed up gauze. The two looked over the many marks on her flesh.

Some had been deeper than others. Some were swollen and only a few were jagged in their appearance. Those, of course, had been toward the end of the rows, when Molly had seemed to no longer care about her accuracy. Mrs. H. tutted a bit at the sight of all of them, before she looked up at Molly.

"Well, that's not nearly as bad as I thought they'd be. Some of these hardly need a plaster on them. What needs doing is cleaning some of these infected ones. Let me go talk to your nurse about getting you cleaned up. I'll be right back, alright?" Mrs. Hudson slid off the bed, and shuffled her way to the door, practically running into Sherlock as he returned, a tray of food in hand. He gave her a knowing glance, and mouthed a 'thank you' before entering the room.

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Well, that's that chapter. I hope it wasn't too stagnant...I'm trying something totally new here, and so I'm sorry if there are spurts in this story that don't exactly seem to flow. But, I suppose that if you are in a situation like this, you don't really feel like things flow naturally anyway, so in a way, it makes sense. Anyway, please tell me what you think, and if you have any issues and need someone to talk to, you can have me. :) Love you all, my dears! See you next time.


	6. Chapter 6

Well, sorry it's taken me so long to update this one. I really only do when I feel I have enough insight for how it needs to continue. I also have a hard time writing on this particular piece for long spurts, considering the content is both very difficult, as well as very personal, in a matter of speaking. Anyway, here is the next chapter.

**I don't own any of the characters or settings. I'm only a fic writer, channeling ideas with borrowed characters.**

**Also,**

**This story is highly delicate, and has several TRIGGER WARNINGS in it. Self-harm, Suicide/Thoughts, Depression. If you cannot read on because of these issues affecting you, PLEASE DO NOT MAKE YOURSELF! The VERY LAST THING I want to do is cause someone unintended hardship by messing with their emotions this way. If you decide to read, DO SO WITH CAUTION! Thank you all so much for continuing to support me as I slowly hammer away at this piece. It's a very important one for me, and it means the world to me that you are being so kind and lovely by giving me a boost of morale. :)**

**Right...on we charge.**

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He had brought her soup. The main course had been steak, but even the constantly-untactful Sherlock knew that food requiring a sharp cutting utensil was probably not the best option. So, soup it was. He'd also managed to procure her a delicious slice of cake, despite the cafeteria not carrying any. As he walked into her room carrying the tray of food, Mrs. Hudson passed, giving him a fond smile as she left. He stepped in, closing the door behind him, and walked over to sit beside Molly's bed.

"I hope this is enough. I didn't know what your stomach could handle at the moment." He stated, setting the tray down across her lap. Molly breathed in the delicious smell of the broth from her soup, before nodding her head. A light smile crossed her face, and she picked up the spoon, dipping it into the bowl. Sherlock sat back a bit, content in watching her.

Several minutes had passed, and Molly's growling stomach was finally satisfied. She set the tray aside on the nearby table, before leaning back in her bed. The silence grew thicker and thicker in the room, Sherlock watching her, and Molly staring off into space. He leaned forward, and plucked her hand into his own. She snapped her gaze to look at him, and watched as he studied the knuckles on her fingers. They shared the moment together, somehow anchoring each other to the present time. The door to Molly's room opened, and Mrs. Hudson stepped back in, followed by a nurse. She walked over to the other side of Molly's bed, and inspected her arms.

"Oh yes, I think we need to go in and wash these, before they become infected. Is that alright with you, Miss Hooper?" the nurse asked with a smile. Molly nodded her head slightly, before sitting up. She looked to Sherlock, as if asking for permission. He released her hand, and gave her a gentle nod of approval.

"I'll be here when you are done." He responded, a small knowing smile crossing his face. Molly slipped off the side of the bed and followed the nurse to the bathroom. She winced slightly as the bandages on her legs rubbed against the marred flesh.

Sherlock let out a long, tired sigh as the bathroom door closed behind the two women. Mrs. Hudson walked over to him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You need to get some rest, young man. Why don't you try to take a small nap? They'll be in there for awhile. Shut your eyes for a tick." She insistently pressed her fingers to his eyelids, and Sherlock huffed out an impatient sigh.

"Oh fine. If only to have you stop fussing so much, Mrs. Hudson." he said crankily, but still attempting to hide a smirk at the corner of his lips. The older woman smiled down at the man, before crossing the room to sit in the other available chair. The minutes pressed on as they waited for Molly and her nurse to finish.

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Gown tossed carefully over the towel rack, and sterilizing materials laid out beside the tub, the nurse peeled back the remaining gauze and tape from Molly's legs. Molly hissed a bit at the pain, to which the nurse quietly apologized. With the scraps disposed of in the nearby bin, she turned back to the petite woman in the bath.

"This is going to hurt. Some of your...wounds, they're slightly infected. I'm going to have to scrub a little bit. Just, hold onto my shoulder if you need to." The young nurse offered up a small smile, and Molly nodded her head. With the water turned onto a comfortable temperature, she set to work. Soapy cloth in hand, she pressed down on Molly's left leg first. Molly bit her lip, trying not to cry as the material from it rubbed against the open slashes in her skin.

"Ready?" The nurse asked. Molly whimpered a bit, but nodded her head anyway. The first pass of the washcloth hadn't been too terrible, but with the second, third, and so on, the pain increased. Molly knew it was because of the infection and swelling of some of them, but when she could no longer withhold the tears, she released a screech.

"Stop! Please, stop! It's... it hurts too much! I don't want to do this! Please!" She begged the startled girl, who dropped the cloth in the shallow water immediately. She had opened her mouth to ask Molly what she needed of her, when the door swung open in a flash. Molly looked up through clouded vision, to see a wide-eyed Sherlock looking down at them.

"Sher..."

"What's going on? Why did she shout? Leave, you're clearly only making it worse. I'll handle this situation. You can go fetch her some tea...please." Sherlock fired off the harsh orders quickly, only adding the request when he saw Molly's eyes tell him to do so. The nurse mumbled her apologies once more, before running out of the room. Sherlock was down by Molly's side the moment the space was clear, and he looked over her carefully.

"Sherlock, it wasn't her fault. It's just...they're more infected than I thought. Serves me right, I guess." Molly sighed to herself, looking over her bright pink legs. Sherlock was quiet, and only let out a breath after a long moment.

"No. No it doesn't. Here, allow me." He moved to help her stand, and stepped into the large tub behind her. Molly looked with confusion as he maneuvered the both of them around, until she was now sitting on his lap as he balanced them on the edge of the ceramic bath. He started with her arms, which weren't as bad off as he had originally thought. Molly had hardly even cried as he rubbed the washcloth across them, no doubt shooting a tingling sort of pain through her instead. However, when it came time to move down to her legs, he could feel the tension and nerves build up within her. He picked up the cloth and brought it slowly to rest on her leg. Before he began, he pulled her a bit closer, so her head was resting on his shoulder.

"Hold onto me." He whispered to her. Molly wrapped her arms tightly around him, one around his neck, the other tucked underneath the arm supporting her. She nodded her head, giving him permission to proceed. As he gently scrubbed away at her leg, Molly sobbed into his shoulder. Her whole body shuddered as he moved to the other leg, starting the whole process over again. The second leg had held more jagged cuts, and naturally these were the ones with more infection. As he hit a particularly nasty stretch of them, Molly's cries grew louder.

"It hurts, Sh...Sherlock. It...hurts s-so m...uch! Pl-ease, please, stop!" Sherlock dipped the cloth back into the tub, and brought it up to her leg one last time.

"Sh, I know. It's almost over, Molly. Just one last rinse." He spoke softly to her, knowing it would help to distract her from the excruciating pain that ripped through her flesh. He squeezed the warm water over her legs, washing away the last of the soap and murky water that had settled over her scabbing wounds. He dried her carefully, making sure the fibers from the towel didn't stick to her, before he redressed the wounded areas, and finally dressed her in the hospital gown. Molly hadn't stopped crying, though her sobs weren't to such extremes anymore. When he had finished, Sherlock picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the other room. He went to lay her down in the bed, but Molly's vice-like grip stopped him from pulling away. He looked down at her, to see those widened doe's eyes looking at him with such desperation.

"Please, d...don't leave. I...I need you, Sherlock. Please." Her voice trembled with welling tears, but also with unhindered need. Sherlock couldn't find it in himself to deny her, and the urging look from Mrs. Hudson across the room only aided in his decision to sit in his chair, cradling her close as he did so. He whispered to her about nothing in particular, but the sound of his voice had seemed to calm her. Eventually, Sherlock felt the weight of Molly shift as her body relaxed to a state of sleep. He let out a relieved sigh, before carefully moving and placing her back in the hospital bed. The tired man stood and stretched his long limbs, before looking over to his landlady.

"I know I won't be able to convince you to leave this room until she wakes up, so I'll just go pop down to the cafeteria and get some coffee, alright?" Mrs. Hudson gave him a smile, before she stood and walked to the door. Before she left, she turned and looked at him as he diligently watched a sleeping Molly.

"You know? I think I'll just leave you two for a bit. I'll go home and check on John. I thought perhaps you would need someone here to help you with this whole situation, but I can see now that you know what you're doing." She said with a smile. Sherlock looked up at her, a somber expression on his face, one clouded with understanding of the meaning behind her words. In a quick and flustered movement, the elderly woman made her way across the room, and pulled his head to her chest in a hug.

"I'm so proud of you, my boy. You've become such a _good_ man." Her voice whimpered out the heartfelt words, and Sherlock found himself trying not to give into his body's urge to tear up along with her. She pulled away a moment later, and walked to the door. She gave the two one last look, before quietly sneaking out of the room. Sherlock sighed, before he leaned forward to look over his Molly as she slept. A single thought continued to press into his mind.

_'I'm not a good man, but I will become one for you.'_

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Well, that seemed like a good stopping point for now. Um, leave a review and tell me what you think. This chapter was pretty draining for me, but I hope it made an impact on someone who needed it. Anyway, thank you again so much for your love and support on this project. It really does make a huge difference to me to go back and read through such wonderful words from you all. Thank you, I love you! If you ever need someone to listen, I'm here.


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